


Confidants

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming In Pants, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Heavy Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Coming Out, Pre-Canon, Self-Hatred, Trust, Wet Dream, but who's fucking surprised about that, i'm tagging this really heavy but it's, oh boy okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: "Have you," Arthur presses his lips together before rubbing at his jaw, "Done somethin' like that?""No," John says hoarsely, "No, I ain't…""S'fine, if you are."John stares at him, face scrunched in confusion, cheeks still burning red."It is," Arthur says gently, "Promise."





	Confidants

**Author's Note:**

> whew okay preface this isn't some fuckin voyeuristic 'self-hating gay' wank this is john being in a moment of 'oh fuck i'm gay for you and i'm terrified that you finding out will make you hate me or worse' and then arthur immediately being like 'fuck that noise' and reassuring john 
> 
> and then talking him off i guess jesus christ who knows  
also i meant to post this on my birthday but i did not finish it in time so whoops

"John," Arthur grunts and reaches back to shove at the younger where he's rutting in his sleep against Arthur's ass.

"M-mm?" John moans as he's forced out of his dream, just on the edge of coming, "Oh… Oh, fuck, _Arthur."_

John takes a shaky, sharp breath in and rapidly backs up, scrambling away until his back is against the tent wall.

Arthur slowly rolls onto his back and looks over at the younger.

John's staring at him, the heel of one hand pressing down on the obvious bulge in his drawers, the other clenched in the canvas floor.

Terror on his face.

"I'm- I'm sorry," John chokes out.

"It's fine," Arthur says stiffly.

John shifts to kneel, a whimper bitten back before the younger shuffles towards the tent entrance.

"Where you goin'?" Arthur asks quickly, "S'pourin' out there."

"I can't," John whispers desperately, closing his eyes tightly, "Art, I- I gotta. I'm too…"

"Just finish here then," Arthur mutters and rubs tiredly at his face.

"Arthur, I…" John hisses before whimpering again and squeezing the base of his cock through his drawers.

It's early morning but the heavens decided to let loose a downpour and both of them agreed to catch some more sleep until the storm passed.

Arthur wasn't expecting to wake up to this.

"Just sit down," Arthur says roughly, "Finish off."

"I'm sorry," John whispers hoarsely and slumps onto his ass, bringing up his knees, trying his best to hide his hand gripping his cock tight through the cotton.

He brings his other hand up to cover his mouth and ducks his head, muffling a needy sound against his palm.

Arthur can see the tears leaking from the younger man's closed eyes, running down cherry-red cheeks before spilling over the back of John's hand.

"John, it's," Arthur sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "It's alright."

John's chest hitches with a muffled sob and the younger curls up further, trying and failing to rein in his breathing and calm himself down.

"Why are you so… Upset?" Arthur asks gently.

"S'wrong," John says hoarsely.

"You were asleep," Arthur argues, "Can't blame yourself for that."

"No I… I was dreamin'," John chokes out then hesitates.

"Okay?"

"Of _you,_ Art," John whispers, "I'm so sorry."

The silence from the older man is like a line of cold dread running from the nape of his neck down his spine.

He chokes on another sob and presses his palm harder to his mouth, breathing labored, whistling through his nose.

"What was it?"

John looks up sharply, vision blurred by tears until he harshly blinks them away.

Only to find Arthur watching him, curious and contemplative.

Not the fury or disgust he was expecting.

"... What?" John manages to croak behind his hand.

"What was we doin'?"

"We were- You were..." John swallows thickly and moves his hand off his mouth to roughly wipe at his wet face, "Fuckin'."

"You?" Arthur asks lowly.

"Yessir," John says in a small voice.

Arthur's chest aches because he remembers this feeling.

The fear of knowing you're different, of worrying people might find you out for being 'twisted'.

Of being worried you might lose people because of that difference.

"Did you like that?" Arthur asks slowly.

John's brows furrow uncertainly and he nods once.

"Have you," Arthur presses his lips together before rubbing at his jaw, "Done somethin' like that?"

"No," John says hoarsely, "No, I ain't…"

"S'fine, if you are."

John stares at him, face scrunched in confusion, cheeks still burning red.

"It is," Arthur says gently, "Promise."

John sniffs and rubs at one eye with the heel of his palm while watching Arthur cautiously with the other.

Waiting for the joke at his expense or the _‘you’re **what**?’_ or the _‘you’re done for, Marston’_.

It doesn’t come.

Arthur just stays sitting up slightly, one hand under his temple as he calmly watches John.

“Are you…” John hesitates.

Arthur hums two notes.

Affirmative.

John’s lips stick together before he draws the lower one in and grips it between his teeth.

He feels the blunt edges of his upper teeth digging in as he takes in a shaky breath through his nose and has to look to the side, flush creeping back into his cheeks, fingers subtly flexing in his grip around the base of his cock.

“Sh-” John gives in and squeezes himself lightly, ducking his head further before lowering one of his legs, knee bent.

So Arthur can see.

He’s always trusted the older man but there’s something that settles warmer in his gut at the idea that he can share this with Arthur.

Something he’s never felt cared about enough to reveal to anyone else.

Something that’s ultimately his, but now inherently Arthur’s, also.

“-it,” John bites out and moves the hand not on his cock up to his face, threading his fingers in his hair to shove it back behind his ear.

He doesn’t _want_ to hide from Arthur.

Not his thumb slowly rubbing over his bulge.

Not his teeth parting with a hitched breath.

Not his brows furrowing unevenly and his eyes involuntarily closing as he cries out softly.

Not his hand half-undoing the closures on his drawers just to desperately shove his hand through the gap and _finally_ get his hand around himself.

“Take it easy, Marston,” Arthur murmurs, “No need to rush.”

John can hardly get his next breath in when he glances up through his lashes and sees Arthur still relaxed in his splayed position, not quite more on either of their bedrolls, one leg drawn up onto John’s but the other leg a long line down the edge of his own bedroll.

John’s legs start to lift in the domino effect of his hips wanting to cant up into his hand.

So he lowers them forcefully and grips the side of his own neck, and looks directly in Arthur’s eyes as his back arches.

Because he doesn’t _want_ to hide _himself_ from Arthur.

He gets that shaky clutching for oxygen to finally fill his lungs, only for the next exhale to spill out through a trembling jaw.

_“Arthur.”_

“Yes?”

John wishes he had the breath in him to groan his displeasure at the flippant tone the older man used.

Like John isn’t leaking precum in a slippery pool that seeps through the thin cotton of his drawers.

Shameless like he wishes he could be.

Arthur’s low whistle when John’s cock visibly twitches beneath the fabric has a prickling tingle creeping over John’s shoulders.

Up his neck, around his temples.

Cradling his skull in heat and a sort of fuzziness to his awareness.

_“Fuck,”_ John hisses and strokes himself a few times, eager and tight.

And slick, the sound of his enthusiasm a different kind of wet than the rain outside.

Where outside is cold and biting this is hot and sticky and John shivers, hand moving around to cup the front of the base of his own neck.

_“Slow,”_ Arthur reminds him, “Pace yourself.”

“Shit,” John bites out in annoyance, “Art, I’m too fuckin’ clo-.”

“Trust me.”

Those two words, two syllables between two men has the last letters of his protest dying in his throat.

John lets out a sharp breath and relaxes his grip on himself.

He moves his other hand up from his neck and rubs at his mouth as he lightly strokes himself, barely any friction.

“Whatchu thinkin’ ‘bout?” Arthur asks, voice a little rough.

John can see the want in the older man’s eyes and it stifles his chest, a hot and swampy feeling.

“You,” John says quietly.

Arthur’s small snort and slow shake of his head, his _amusement_ has John feeling a little lighter.

Safer.

“What ‘bout me?”

“Your…” John squeezes his length shortly and lowers his gaze to Arthur’s lips before returning to the older man’s eyes, “Your mouth.”

_“Oh?”_ Arthur drawls easily, “What about it?”

“Around me,” John whispers.

“On your cock?”

John’s socked toes curl on the canvas bottom of the tent, legs tensing.

He’s never heard Arthur like this.

These words, this _tone._

“... Yeah,” John says hesitantly.

“You had that done before?” Arthur asks genuinely.

John slowly shakes his head.

Even with Abigail, he’s never gone farther than some making out or heavy petting.

_“Mm,_ John,” Arthur says and lets his eyes close, lolling his head to the side, “S’like nothin’ else.”

John barely gets out a curious sound when his stomach tenses at the way Arthur looks right now.

Neck open and inviting, hair swept away from his face, expression relaxed with his eyes shut.

Trusting.

“Hot, _wet,”_ Arthur murmurs, and John can clearly see the older man’s cock bulging in his drawers.

He can see Arthur’s eyes moving under his eyelids, slowly flicking around like he’s imagining…

Or maybe remembering.

“If you think a hand is good, try adding a _tongue,”_ Arthur chuckles lowly, eyes still closed and John feels like he can barely breathe.

“It’s different e’ry time, with e’ry partner,” Arthur says and opens his eyes to stare into John’s.

John stills entirely, too captivated.

“Sometimes it ain’t too messy and they’ll mostly focus on the head,” Arthur says and makes a vague swirling gesture with his finger.

John’s gut clenches.

“And sometimes it’ll wreck you, sometimes they want it just as bad as you,” Arthur says breathily and brings his hand up to his neck, running his fingertip from under his chin to his Adam’s apple, “Droolin’ on your cock and swallowin’ you down.”

“Fuck,” John bites out and curls up slightly, moving his hand to his base and gripping firmly, feeling his balls drawing up.

“Prefer the latter, myself,” Arthur says and John whimpers slightly, cock jerking and hips trying to rock forward.

“Givin’ or receivin’,” Is the devastating blow that Arthur says special just for him and John cries out shakily as he comes.

Pressing his hand hard to his mouth and biting on the meat of thumb to muffle his desperate sounds as his come soaks into his drawers and drips down his hand into the hair covering his balls, a large wet spot seeping through the cream cotton.

He feels his calf cramping with how hard his toes are curled and forces his legs to go limp.

Letting them fall open and show off the mess Arthur made of him.


End file.
